


Losing your voice

by KhameirSarin



Category: Mad Max 1979, Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4866563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KhameirSarin/pseuds/KhameirSarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of the events surrounding the first Mad Mad film and beyond, from the perspective of MFP officer Charlie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So here’s the first chapter of the fic! I’m hoping to make this story fairly lengthly, but that’s unlikely without people responding to my writing. I hate to sound like I’m nagging anyone, but reviews keep me going, even Kudos are great!  
> Also I can't think of a last name for him, so Charlie gets the generic "same last name as the actor" treatment, sorry.

A steady, painful spasm in Charlie’s neck dragged him reluctantly into consciousness, his eyes opening enough to let in the sharp light of the sterile room. As an instinct, he brought his palms to his eyes, holding them down into his skull ever so slightly, as if to rub the sunlight away. Something felt strange. His normal blanket pile defence wasn’t here at present, and a strange tugging sensation could be felt in the back of his hand. Easing his eyes open, still squinting against the light, he turned his hand over to examine the needle embedded in it. A long tube jutted out, so Charlie followed it’s winding journey with inquisitive eyes still squinting against the light, until it arrived at a destination. A transparent bag of equally clear liquid hung suspended from a metal pole, feeding down the tube to the small man on the bed. Behind it, a heart monitor bleeped at the same pace as his pulse, each sound spaced apart in an almost patient manner. A tall woman in a white coat peered through the door, coming through with more confidence as she noticed he was awake. Her getup confirmed his suspicions that he was in a hospital, but he couldn’t figure out what had gotten him here.

“Good morning Mr. Ley,” The grey haired woman said cheerfully, before checking her watch and correcting herself. “Or should I say afternoon!” Her badge read the name “Dr. Phillips”. She pulled a seat across the floor and sat next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”  
Her tone lowered into that generic ‘caring’ voice Charlie was so use to putting on. He had to be the one to calm down victims of various crimes while Roop cocked his gun and cursed to the heavens about the scags he was personally escorting to hell.  
However, a spark of realisation seemed to spark across her face as she spoke. Crossing her arms and looking down with a sense of guilt, it was as if she was figuring out a way to reverse her own question. Confused, as he could see no ill intent behind the words, Charlie answered her.  
“Like shit…” He said. Or at least, he thought he did. His own voice wasn’t audible to him, but he believed this to be down to the ringing that lingered in his ears. Or perhaps it was just that his voice was hoarse, it would make sense when he considered exhibit B: the pain that seemed to stab at his neck continuously. “Why am I here?”

The same realisation that hit the doctor mere moments ago now struck Charlie like a kick to the gut. One hand instinctively darted to his throat, subsequently tearing the drip from it’s placement, while the other swung him off the side of the bed. He staggered around the pale room, slipping away from the doctor as she attempted to calm his state. The beeps seemed to melt into one continues screech in his mind until they all together stopped, as he barged through a door, falling into the mirror head first and fumbled blindly at the bandages at his neck, where he gawked silently at the cracked reflection. A hand pressed cautiously at his shoulder. His spur of madness over, Charlie fell back against the doctor, submissively allowing her to guide him back to the bed. Slumping backwards, he stared at the ceiling. She began to explain his predicament, and the memories seemed to flood back to him. 

He’d been asleep in the Big Bopper, his car, when the radio cut in. March Hare: Cop killer on the loose. He'd been able to drive for a little way, intending to ram him, but they'd crashed. Roop took the wheel, and they'd crashed again- multiple times, if his memories served him correctly. The last crash sent them through a parked caravan. The next thing Charlie had been clutching at his throat, a gloved hand wrapped over a gash which drew more and more red liquid from his body with each faltering breath. He remembered Roop saying something about a saucepan, but he blacked out soon after.

"I'm sorry, sir. We had to operate immediately before your breathing failed completely." 

"Full laryngotomy."

"You'll never talk naturally again." 

Individual comments seemed to stick out like brightly coloured buoys in a sea of Dr. Phillips' useless information. The vapid speech continued, and Charlie's head lolled as she spoke, his eyes feeling like dry wood despite the teariness.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Most people are suppose to receive gifts when they're in hospital. Gifts of colourful flowers arranged in excited bouquets, and chocolate and cards that wished the patient the very best on the road to recovery. Little updates on what's been going on while they're away. Letting them know they're being missed,

Charlie, on the other hand, gets a scrawl of paper from Fifi reading:

"Charlie, try to hurry up, we need you back here as soon as possible. You won't be paid until you do, we can't afford it on the budget cuts -Chief Macaffee."

It had obviously been Roop that had been tasked, or burdened, with dropping off the letter. Charlie could quickly deduce this by the added information at the bottom, in Roop's surprisingly delicate writing, this time saying:

"Don't rush back, I'm having fun."

Charlie just screwed the paper up. He'd spent the next minute or so with a paper ball in hand trying to angle a shot up perfectly, as to knock over the gaudy card by the door. That was the other thing he'd been 'lucky' enough to receive. It was from his local church, the one his mother still dragged him off to on a regular basis. On the front there was a large grey cross, while on the inside there was a small bible passage, probably meant to encourage him in some way. And in all honesty, it did. This would have been a nice thing to get, if it hadn't been for the "repent on your sins" pamphlet inside, accompanied by a small piece of pink card advertising the local children's charity cake sale. 

He steadied his aim, and let the scrap of paper go with a little jolt of energy he had stored. Both of the unwanted gifts fell off the drawer, the card swaying down with an elegance of grace whilst the ball hit the ground with a crackle. It rolled across the floor as the door eased open against it, and Charlie quickly but quietly threw himself back into a lying position, putting on a facade of sleep as footsteps clicked their way across the floor. The last thing he wanted right now was visitors. 

"Charlie?" It was Dr. Phillips, he decided from the voice. She'd gotten less formal over the brief few days he'd been here, now referring to him by his forename. Which he didn't mind, of course. Just an observation. "Are you awake?"

Charlie decided to keep up the act of being asleep, bit awkward otherwise, and fluttered his eyes open in mock surprise. Easing himself up, he noticed that the doctor held a box under her arm. She stood by his bed while he swung his feet round to the side of the bed, making room for her to sit down. He edged away from her a bit, and rubbed his bare feet together, using the feeling as a distraction from the embarrassment that still lingered around him following his outburst the other day. Charlie then set his feet down on the floor, lifted himself up off of the bed slightly, and ran his hands in a swoop under his legs to pull the hospital gown into a more modest position. Dr. Phillips took out the box from under her arm, and set it in between them, lifting the lid and tossing it to the side.

"This," she said, "is an electrolarynx. It should enable you to speak." 

The patient was startled by this idea. He'd been under the impression that he'd never talk again, and had just started to convince himself that this would be the case. Watching as the doctor lifted the device by its long chain, he marvelled at the strange object. It didn't seem to be anything interesting, apart from a speaker at one end and a button near the centre. Dull grey in colour, and hinting at rust along the neck chain, it was clear this object wasn't new, but Charlie didn't really mind. He never did with these things. Once it had been places around his neck like a strange medal, he took it into his hand and continued his silent inquisition. Strange.

Dr. Phillips was growing visibly impatient, whether it was from excitement to show Charlie his new voice to due to a desire to move onto other engagement was uncertain. She grabbed the electrolarynx from her patient's palm, not quite snatching but still hurried, and pressed the button while waving it slowly in his face.  
"You press this, and hold it to your throat, see?" She gestured towards the top of his neck and clicked the button repetitively. He responded with a nod, pressing down on the button while he followed her instructions. 

A sudden realisation dawned on him- he didn't know what to say. Was he suppose to say something cool or meaningful with his first words? He supposed not. After all, babies never use their first word wisely. 

"Hello?" Charlie said. The word was diluted and quiet. Looking to his doctor for advice, he saw a dramatically exaggerated set of open pursed lips as a response. Following said advice, he repeated himself, this time opening his mouth wider and pushing his lips out, as if trying to grasp words from the air.

"HELL-O?"  
The volume of the robotic noise caused Charlie to physically jump back, sending a jolt through the thin, cheap mattress. Recovering, he tried to speak some more. His new voice was foreign to him. It seemed like it didn't belong outside of a high power action movie, and seemed very odd on little Charlie. It was much too deep for him, and the metallic sounds made it seem like he should be producing guns from his arms, or maybe even lasers from his eyes, he thought. 

None the less, he endured the borderline awkward conversation with the grey haired women with a great deal of enthusiasm, excited at the prospect of retaining some level of communication with others.

This wouldn't last.


	3. Chapter 3

After a second doctor had poked his face through the door, muttering something about other patients requiring rooms, Charlie was told he was officially fit to leave whenever he felt like it.  
"But I'm sure the sooner you get out of here, the better you'll feel, eh?" Dr Phillips emphasised joyfully, with an undertone that seethed "We need this room back, please go."

Charlie wasn't sure how to feel about this. He understood the poor condition and lack of resources available, but he did put his life on the line on a regular basis to try and protect these people, didn't he? Surely he deserved some sort of recognition for that?  
Stop thinking like that, he thought scornfully, You don't deserve any more than anyone else. Besides: you took the job. You knew the risk. If anything it's your fault for getting involved.

The two doctors must've been aware of some kind of internal argument going on, as the male doctor chucked a black shape at the bed in an attempt to hurry him up. His uniform. The original doctor followed their colleague back through the door, giving the miserable patient some space to change. Charlie picked the uniform up, tentatively at first. It was tattered and falling apart now more so than ever. He could try an apply for a new uniform if he really wanted, but he'd be lucky if another even existed for his small stature. And clearly, he wasn't a very lucky person. Sweeping up the leather trousers and pulling them up his legs, he couldn't help but notice the state of the knees. The knees had always been the weak point on the MFP's uniform- nearly every officer he knew had them patched up in some manner. The jokes he overheard on a regular basis regarding the cause of these patches, usually from immature teenagers, or prisoners trying to trash-talk their way out of jail, were almost enough to raise his mood by a fraction. At the very least, it made him blush slightly. The next thing he took was the light blue top they were all expected to wear. Removing his hospital gown, getting stuck in the sleeves and tangled with the chain of his electrolarynx in the process, he stood in front of a mirror, squinting slightly. He never looked in a full length mirror that often, since he wasn't sure where he ever really saw one. 

Charlie took note of his slumped over posture (a nervous habit he'd tried to quit) and straightened up. Despite the fact he was already skin-on-bones, he'd managed to somehow loose more weight over the course of his brief hospitalisation. He cursed himself for not being like the others, like Max or Goose who would strut around the Halls of Justice bare chested, if the weather permitted, invoking a sense of power with their confidence - and quite frankly, their looks. Charlie also sat at the opposite of the scale to his other coworkers, Roop and Fifi, who's towering figures made their presence known from what seemed like miles away. 

But alas, he was just Charlie, a quiet and forgettable little man who could fade into the background without even trying. He couldn't even provoke a reaction from prisoners, usually having to feebly summon another officer to get the job done. He supposed that's why he liked driving so much; it didn't require any strength on his behalf, just his ability to drive the car. And Charlie was a decent driver, mind you. It was unlikely for MFP officers to last this long. 

Last of all he threw on his uniform jackets and boots. For a while, he just stood there, glaring at his reflection. The off-white bandage around his throat contrasted against the dark outfit, drawing an uncomfortable amount of attention to his injury. He made a mental note to find something darker when he got home, even if it involved cutting off part of his uniform. The trousers were too long on him anyway. Noticing the stubbly beard and fuzzy layer over his head, he also added shaving to his to do list.

Remembering he had no possessions with him other than the clothes he'd crashed in and his new speaking aid, Charlie held himself as tall as he felt able and left his room, almost slipping on the card. The hospital seemed strange. He was fairly sure he saw a boy on a stretcher being carried into the room he'd left mere seconds ago. It wasn't the first time he'd been in hospital, Roop did tend to crash the Bopper on a semi-regular basis, but it seemed alien this time. Like it was even worse for wear than before. As the now-uniformed opened a door to pass through the waiting room, his posture fell back into an uncomfortable slouch- it was as if his body were trying to sink in on itself, to become invisible against the daggers being stared at him at present. 

The MFP were regarded as both heroes and monsters, it all depended on who you asked about it. The crowd at present seemed to mostly be made up of young men in their early twenties, close in age to Charlie but very different in lifestyle. Their matching grey jackets plastered in various logos and symbols marked them clearly as a gang, although not one that he'd encountered before. Maybe from the city, and had come to bring one of their injured into a lower profile hospital? Either way, they knew who he was, at least what he was, and we're getting uncomfortably up in his face at present. Not wanting to get sent right back into the hospital, Charlie ducked past the sneering bodies, almost sprinting for the door in an attempt to break out. He'd gotten halfway down the road before realising.

He hadn't a ride home.   
His heart still in his mouth, he weighed up the choices available. He could call in one of his colleague to give him a lift, but he knew he'd just be a bother. He always was. Besides, he didn't know who to call- Max was probably at home with his wife on his day off, and there was no way on earth he was dealing with Roop right now. He could maybe get a taxi? No, the change in his pocket wasn't even going to afford him a call right now, let alone a ride. Besides, most taxi drivers nowadays weren't the best drivers. His only other option was to walk, and while he was still in a hyperaware, jumpy state from his previous encounter, it would have to do. Shoving his hands into his pockets and dropping his eyes to the floor, the officer barged headfirst into the walk home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been about 5 months since I updated this last and I know I'm an awful person but please forgive me.

Walking home hadn't been nearly as bad as Charlie had anticipated, and yet, it had been a hundred times worse. He hadn't been ambushed and re-hospitalised by a faceless biker gang, as he had worried he would be, but the reactions of others were painfully obvious to him, largely due to his nervous disposition and it's ability to notice everything going on around him in nearly photographic detail. It was alright at the start, a young child pulling on their mother's shirt while waiting at the bus stop, asking rather loudly why the man had a funny bandage around his neck. The man in question had already sped off along the dirty sidewalk before the boy's question was answered, so he never personally heard an answer.  
Bumping into people also seemed strange. Usually, he would apologise quickly to anyone who knocked him to the side, and this instinct hadn't left him when his voice had. Charlie still tried to blurt out an apology to the gruff looking bearded man who shoved past him, and when he realised he would need technology's assistance to do so, he attempted to call out in his new, robotic voice. Unfortunately for him, this attracted the attention of multiple small crowds on the otherwise empty roadside. Heat raising to his cheeks and tinting his ears, he reverted to his usually tactic of once again bolting off with his eyes held firmly to the ground. As per usual, he kept his vision just high enough to see oncoming pedestrian traffic. Although with the amount of screeching tires and the cars spinning across the potholed road he kept a mental note to keep an eye on that traffic too.

He eventually reached the apartment building. Several more encounters had occurred, such as a group of beautiful looking women watching the small officer with eyes full of pity and a gaggle of loud teenagers who called out various insults and poorly thought out jokes, but at present he was just pleased to be home. It wasn't technically his, but it was the nearest thing he had to his own personal residence, and it brought some strange sense of safety with it's flimsy walls and cheap furniture. The building he lived in belonged to the MFP. Most of the building was dedicated to storage of old uniforms and discarded paperwork, but with only one miniscule floor dedicated to housing an entire group of officers, it could be more than cramped on occasions. At the moment however, the only permanent resident was Charlie, who took barely any room, but in the past things had been a lot more exciting.

Charlie had lived here with nearly all of his co-workers in the past, besides the Chief who had his own residence elsewhere. Roop had been one to previously live here, but had since gotten homesick and returned to living with his mother. Understandable for a man of such a young age, Charlie thought, but still rather odd considering his cocky self-portrayal as a big, vengeful guy with next to no fear and a big storage of anger to release at any given time. Of course, Charlie had been his driving partner to know he wasn't as fearless as he liked people to think, but there was no lying about the guy's aggression issues. Max Rockatansky himself use to live here as well, but being the only officer with a long-term relationship, quickly moved in with his new wife after their marriage. The current resident of the apartment had quite innocently asked if she would've liked to move in with them all, but for reasons not immediately known to him, his suggestion had been met with obnoxious laughter from his co-workers. Still, the Rockatansky couple, and by extension, their son, often invited the small patrol force around for dinner, the three young men joining the family for food and movie marathons. Goose technically hadn't moved out, but was always away. Usually at some new attractive woman's residence every night. 

Fumbling clumsily in his pockets, Charlie eventually pulled out the rusted keys. He put them in the door and twisted them, but yanking open the weighty door took even more effort than was usually required. The usual smell of damp was stronger than normal too, and the scent seemed to hit Charlie like an unwanted 'welcome home' gift. Apart from the old creaking and his own light but clumsy footsteps up the stairs, the entire building seemed engulfed in an eerie silence. He hadn't quite decided whether he liked this yet, but since the only record player had gone with Max when he left, there wasn't much choice but to get use to it.


End file.
